


Spike was always her favorite anyway.

by inplayruns



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inplayruns/pseuds/inplayruns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie got away, so she wasn't expecting more visitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spike was always her favorite anyway.

Charlie gets away.

She changes her name to Emily Brown, because after this Leviathan crap, she’s looking to be as anonymous as possible. She sends Harry one last e-mail telling him to get away from Chicago and anything Richard Roman Enterprises, it’s important, and then frowns as she stomps her cell phone into warped pieces in the parking lot. She saves the memory chip to destroy manually later.

She gets her hair chopped really short, and she’s never gonna pull it off like Natalie did in _V for Vendetta_ but hey, she looks okay. She dyes it brown and gets a bunch of preppy clothes, which she’s never worn before. It’s weird to see her closet full of Ralph Lauren polos and cute little cardigans.

So she’s eating breakfast, keeping tabs on Roman - through her own private server, thank you very much, there’s a reason she didn’t take the Google job and it’s because those guys could all very easily find out far too much - when all of a sudden, there’s another friggin’ guy in her apartment without warning. In a flasher trenchcoat, right out of _Constantine_ , only he’s wearing hospital scrubs under the coat.

She screams, and tosses the Borax she’s got just about everywhere in her apartment - can’t be too careful - on him. (Some of it lands on the really awesome French toast she made. Ruined. Bummer.) It doesn’t do anything but leave a giant wet blotch across his front, which dries almost immediately. She tugs the cap off the saltshaker and throws it at him, but it bounces off his chest ineffectually.

“I am neither Leviathan nor demon,” he mutters, brushing off his coat. Hey there, Batman voice. “I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord.” His head lifts, and before she has a chance to really frakkin' process that, he sniffs deeply. “It smells of cinnamon in this apartment. Do you grow flowers?”

“Um. Yeah, sometimes.” She moves around a lot, obviously, but it’s always gratifying to watch the way little green buds poke their way through dirt. She’ll even move over a bobblehead with matching (or matching enough, anyway) colors to stand next to the flowers, sometimes.

A gummy smile spreads across his face. “Excellent. I am aware you aided the Winchesters to find the word of God.”

The… who in the what now? _What is her life._


End file.
